Can't Remember To Forget You
by clarabranson
Summary: Clara Branson runs into Severus Snape and some rather interesting occurrences follow. Severus SnapexOC oneshot OOC Severus Snape


Clara Branson dipped her quill into the ink pot and drew a final, deliberate black line along the edge of her parchment, now covered by three boxy little houses with curlicues of smoke and a dozen or so assorted hearts, flowers and stars, but no actual notes. Bored. She had expected more from her first day of observation at the famed Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She had been specially assigned to review the school's curriculum as a preliminary move toward the potential integration of Muggle-Wizard educational systems. Strange happenings over the past few years had prompted a worldwide investigation that revealed: yes, wizards are actually a real thing. So, after thousands of years of secrecy, Clara found herself sitting in a dark, cavernous classroom, surrounded by dorky magic teenagers, doodling with a feather. Clara had arrived at the castle the previous evening, first by train and then by some kind of self-propelled carriage. She was escorted to her quarters by the headmaster himself, a kindly old gentleman with little glasses and a lot of beard. He had barely uttered "Goodnight" when she plopped onto her bed, passed out fully-clothed and slept straight through breakfast. She rushed to her first assigned class, Muggle Studies with Professor Burbage, in the same short emerald skirt, tall black boots and matching black sweater that she had worn the evening before. A little more provocative than the first impression she'd hoped to make, but surely it was better than missing her first assignment completely. Professor Burbage greeted Clara with a smile and a hug and introduced her to the class as "Miss Branson, a pioneer in the noble endeavor to promote harmony between Wizards and Muggles." When the class ended and students filtered out, Clara stood up and thanked Professor Burbage with a smile on her face. After a harried morning, the day was looking better and better. She glanced at her schedule and then made her way to the next assigned class, Potions with Professor Snape. The classroom was empty when she arrived, but for a tall man in black bent over a desk on a platform in the front. She assumed this must be Professor Snape. She rapped timidly on the door and he looked up sharply, piercing her with his black eyes. "Yes?" "Professor Snape, my name is Clara Branson. I'm representing the Muggle-Wizard Educational Interrelations Committee." She strode toward him smiling, hand outstretched. He did not take it, but instead, turned back to the parchment he had been reading. "Yes. So I have heard." He spoke deliberately. He did not return her smile. There was a long pause before he spoke again. "Take a seat in the back of the classroom . We would not want you to cause any distraction. You will find a copy of the textbook on that shelf." He gestured to a cabinet across the room behind him without looking up. Clara remained in place for a moment, waiting. He said nothing more, so she turned to retrieve a book and find her seat. Over the next several minutes, students poured into the classroom. Clara stared at her desk. No one sat next to her. Abruptly, Professor Snape rose from his desk and addressed the students. "Turn to page 394." Class began. He did not introduce her. During the first portion of the class, Clara gleaned very little about relevance of potion-making to her particular efforts, but learned very much about the intricacies of doodling with a quill. The professor's voice lulled her into a kind of trance, like chocolate melting over dark velvet. He was kind of boring. He was sort of sexy though, right? Dark and cold and mysterious, like the infinite abyss of outer space. Clara sighed and drew another heart on her parchment, but this time she kind of meant it. She was shading it in to give it dimension, like a heart-balloon, when she noticed that the classroom had gone quiet. The professor was no longer speaking. She looked up to find him standing directly in front of her desk, staring down his hooked nose contemptuously. She blushed. She felt like she was in high school all over again. "Miss. Branson." His drawl was slow, hanging over every syllable. Pause. For a brief moment their eyes locked and she was suddenly overcome by a wave of lust, hot and wet and rapid throughout her body. Her mind clouded with a thousand images: bent over his lap, against the wall on the desk on the floor legs in the air bent over forward back and sweat sweat sweat. And just as suddenly, her mind was empty. Snape's eyes moved to the doodles across her parchment and he raised an eyebrow. "Had you been paying attention, you would be aware that we have reached the practical portion of the class. However, as a…" He paused, searching for a word. "As a non-witch, it would be ill-advised to toy with such potent ingredients." He flicked his want toward a cabinet behind her, which swung open and several empty bottles flew out. Around the classroom, kids turned and gawked. The bottles clinked as they landed on the desk and as Snape muttered quietly under his breath, each one filled with a different colored liquid. He noticed her standing and said "Just water. You may use these so that you may get the whole experience, as it were." He smirked and her just briefly, then shot a glare around the classroom. The students quickly turned back to their cauldrons. Then he turned his heel and stalked away, his cape fluttering behind him. "I thought you didn't want me to become a distraction," Clara muttered, glaring at the bottles. Finally, class ended. Clara was returning her borrowed textbook to the shelf when she heard her name. "Miss Branson." She looked up to see Professor Snape staring at her, his face hard. "A word." She waited nervously as the students filed out of the room, some of them turning to gape at her on their way out. When the classroom was empty but for the two of them, Snape spoke again. "Here at Hogwarts, we hold out students to a certain standard and our teachers to a nearly insurmountable one." His eyes glided quickly up and down her body, head to toe, before locking with hers. "If you are to represent this school in any official capacity, the least you could do is pay attention." "I'm sorry if I offended you, Professor. But, to be honest, I'm not sure what you'd like me to get out of this class. I get the impression that you want me to pay attention but not actually learn anything. Forgive impudence, but you seem like a hard man to please." "While I find your Muggle endeavors are insipid, the reputation of this school is important to me. If you are to learn potions, you will learn them properly and appropriately, under my instruction. I think you will find that, with the right tutelage, I am not so difficult to please." Clara allowed a slight smile. Ok, he just wanted to give her private instruction. Not so bad, especially since she was finding him increasingly pantymelting. "However, I'm afraid I cannot freely forgive your impudence. Please approach the desk." Guardedly, she moved forward. Snape turned in his chair to face her. "Lie, face down, across my lap." Dumbfounded, she remained frozen in place, staring. "Corporal punishment may be out of fashion in Muggle schools, but it is fair game here. If you want to succeed in your noble endeavors, "he spat the words, "you will adhere to our policies. Lie across my lap, Miss Branson." He locked eyes with her again and his lips moved silently. For an instant, her mind was flooded with images of herself naked, squealing and writhing as the Potions Master raised his hand against her pale flesh. Then, just as quickly, she found herself blushing hot and staring at the floor. She could have left. She knew that. But she didn't. Clara raised her head and strode toward him, nose in the air. With as much dignity as she could muster, she leaned forward across the professor's lap. For a long moment neither of them moved. Then, he spoke, "Good. The sooner we face the unpleasantness of this discipline, the sooner we may spend our time in a more efficacious manner." He lifted her skirt, revealing light cotton panties that hugged the gentle curve of her buttocks. "Profesor Snape!" she exclaimed. She was nervous, embarrassed… but she could feel herself growing warmer, wetter between her thighs. "Just be grateful that I will allow you to keep your knickers on. After all, you Muggles have a reputation in our world for being soft." He ran his thumb just under the waistband of her panties and then allowed them to snap sharply back into place. "Now, you will keep count. I think five should suffice." He raised his hand and let it linger in the air for a beat before, SMACK!, it stung against the creamy flesh of her upper thighs. She did not want to give him the satisfaction of responding. "I will continue until you begin counting," he said sternly. SMACK. "Two!" breathed Clara. "Begin at one." SMACK. "One." "Two!" Her breath was quick. She could feel him harden against her belly. "Three!" SMACK. "Four." SMACK. "Five." With the final blow, his hand lingered on her backside for just a moment. "You may stand." Clara stood, looking down at the floor and straightening her skirt. She was humiliated… and yet, she had entertained this very scene in her mind within the same hour. What was he doing? Was this a game? "Are your buttocks sore?" "No." They were, but she was feeling defiant. "Are you asking for more, then?" She looked at him dead-on. "What makes you think you can get away with this, Professor?" "I think I can get away with this…" Pause… "Because it was your idea," he finished matter-of-factly. She glared, her voice raised, "What do you mean my idea?" Their eyes met and again and her mind betrayed her. She was on his lap, could hear the slap of his hand against her delicate skin, then in a flash she was straddling him, grinding her panty-clad hips against his swelling crotch, tearing rabidly at his robes. And then, the image was gone. He stood abruptly and lunged at her, grabbing her shoulders and pulling her ear against his mouth. His voice was hissing, excited—no longer the tempered, controlled man she had known up until this point. "I have been inside your mind" he breathed, hot against her ear. "I have seen every fantasy, every perversion. Everything you want to do to me." He pulled away. His eyes glinted and he smirked knowingly. "Everything you want me to do to you." Not quite ready to give herself over completely, Clara asked stonily "So is that why you're doing this, then? Because you know you can?" "Because I can." He paused. "And, because I want to."


End file.
